It was one of those warm and sunny afternoons. Thinking that Bass and Stogdill’s Handbook of Leadership would be less painful if accompanied by a cigarette, I picked up a lawn chair and stepped out to the backyard. It was working beautifully. The nicotine and warm sun did the inconceivable. The gobbledygook that was management began to reveal itself. I finally managed to get a glimpse of what the two academicians were desperately trying to say. Sadly, it was not for long.
The sound was familiar. Definitely out of place, but very familiar. It echoed in the long hollow lane of my memory. Soothing and calm, it was the prominent sound of humid dry season afternoons in the jati hills of Gunung Kidul where I spent two months of rural internship programs. And inevitably, my mind drifted slowly there, amidst the rustling of dead leaves and the smell of alang-alang.
With a long drag, the flashes of memory streamed in. The hustle and bustle Munggi market on market day. The long, arduous ride to Baron beach. The earth-floored house I stayed in. And the fact that the bed was so small that we slept in turns. The bruised hands from skinning endless streams of cassava during gaplek season. The smell of roasted grasshopper. Sitting on a pandan mat while watching jathilan rehearsals under petromaks light. The red rice warung near Semanu bridge—fabulous food, tear-jerking price. The festivity of harvest celebration. The various committee meeting with endless home-ground coffee, steamed cassava, and sand-roasted peanuts. Oh my, was it only eight years ago?
In any case, so long, Professor Bass! Goodbye, Dr. Stogdill!
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